


Home, for once

by Caligraphunky



Category: Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles (TV 2012)
Genre: AU Off-Screen Character, Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-12
Updated: 2017-07-12
Packaged: 2018-12-01 04:29:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,546
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11478630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caligraphunky/pseuds/Caligraphunky
Summary: Staying at home's not so bad, when you know how to navigate and keep an eye on the clock.





	Home, for once

“Hey, Angel! Come get your mac on!” Casey didn’t look up from his plate or the heaping globs of macaroni and cheese he was adding to it until he felt his little sister punch his arm.

“Get outta the way, you hog!”

And he did, but not without dropping the giant spoon into the bowl and leaning waaaaay over the counter to block her as he grabbed the salt. It’s kind of a test a little bit, but mostly it’s a way to get her goat. Sure, she’s learning where on his chest to shove to get the best leverage, and the most sensitive parts of his body to attack. (Feet, shins, solar plexus mostly. Casey figured she already knew where the most sensitive part of the male body was and he wasn’t going to be the one to show her).

She’s getting stronger every day, but the roughhousing with his sister isn’t like the sparring he did with the turtles, or the actual dangerous fights with the rogues gallery of criminals that infested the city like so many rat-no, cockroaches. But...well, it might be? Someday? And it’s not like she doesn’t have stuff that she may need to defend herself from when he’s not around to put a sharp skate in evil.

She’s got her elbow on his chest and her foot grinding down on his and she’s saying ‘stoooooooooop!’ as he braces himself against the floor like an immovable pole but she’s laughing and he’s grinning and finally he backs off with a little flourish which nearly makes her fall.

“Hey, I made it, and I had hockey practice today! Need the energy!” He sits in front of the couch with a flop, before leaning back to search through the familiar sagging cushions for -pencils, bottle caps, hey, some quarters, and then- the remote control.

“And doing judo means I don’t?” She’s in the fridge getting a pop and has to twist her whole body around to give him a raspberry.

Sometimes Casey thinks he should take her to the Turtles. He’s seen her do judo and she’s not half bad but that stuff? The way they have her doing it is just...dancing. It’s not what you need for a city infested with ninjas and street gangs and all kinds of nasty things looking to take their shit out on little girls who get home late.

“Ahhh, you got home early. You coulda made dinner!” he says through a mouthful of food as she taps the can’s tab. “What happened? Beat everyone so bad they had to break it before five?”

She rolls her eyes and huffs. “Coach had some family thing he couldn’t get out of. I’m home for the night.”

Casey raised his eyebrows. “Plans?”

“Aww, big bad Casey needs to hang out with his little sis on a Friday night? Why don’t you call those friends you’re always hanging with at night?”

He flipps channels to some episode of Crognard or another. He’s seen a lot of these, he doesn’t have to pay attention. “Pfft! I _was_ , I was gonna see if you wanted anything while I was out, but, whatever, I don’t _gotta_ be nice to you.”

He crosses his arms theatrically, earning him another raspberry. “Well, fine! Don’t!” And whatever she said next was lost in a mouthful of noodles.

Casey turns his attention to his cellphone, flicking through his short contact list until he hits bottom...There. It rings until the voicemail message chimes in: _It’s Raph._ _Make it quick or text, I hate this thing._

“Yo, Raph!” he says, “It’s Jones! You and your bros doin’ anything awesome tonight, gimmie a call. And don’t hold out on me again, or I’ll-”

A screech of tires. Crashing of trashcans. A lot of loud indistinct swearing. All from the street outside. Casey’s eyes whipped to Angel, who mouthed two words:

“ _It’s dad.”_

Casey stands, with his bowl and his -oh dammit, what’d Raph pick up on his voicemail?- his phone, and motions for Angel to go past. Her room was farther down the hall than his. He eyes the bowl of macaroni and the pots and pans and the milk he left out and...nah. No time. Angel’s quick, throwing the can of pop into the fridge before she bolts down the hall. There’s nothing to do about the dishes. Dad said he wasn’t coming home until midnight or Casey would have cleaned stuff, really, _honest_ but even if he said that, he wouldn’t be believed.

Whatever. Angel’s door clicks and locks as he ducks into his own room, shuts the door, and turns off all the lights. He’s hunkered down by the wall beside his closet, behind his door, with his bowl and his phone. The heavy footsteps land at the front door and the loud jangling of keys and sloppy snorting announce his father’s presence.

Casey hears a growl. Probably saw the kitchen. In her room, Angel has probably put her own mac and cheese on the floor by the side of the bed that faces the wall and is tucked under the covers. Not asleep, he guesses, but pretending to be just in case. Casey didn’t think to lock his own door and he doesn’t want to get dragged out of bed by the nape of his neck tonight, so it’s better just to make like he’s out late again. If the old man’s too out of it, he won’t even notice Casey behind the door.

Normally Casey hates to hide from trouble, not like he’s _scared_ or nothing, but...it always upsets Angel when dad’s mad at him. That’s not something he really gets, it’s not like she’s taking the thumps and he’s come home with enough black eyes that he’s joked about borrowing her makeup to paint both of them to match. He’s used to it by now, but she’s not. Not right now.

Maybe she’ll get used to it or maybe she’ll hop a train and travel the whole world. They used to make up stories about that when they were really little. The door opened, and banged Casey in the knee. He can’t make a sound. Not one he can hear from the sound of his heart in his ears, anyway.

The light from the hallway floods the empty room, revealing no in-trouble son. Dad clears his throat as he sweeps his eyes across the room. Casey holds his breath and tries to do all the ninja things he’s learned over the years. _Be quiet. Be part of the landscape. Be as small as possible. Don’t get caught._

His phone  went off.  No alarm, but t he vibration buzz es against the bowl and  makes the spoon  clatter .

Casey shove s it in his hoodie.

He kn ows his dad heard it, it was so freakin’ loud. He’s got to remember to start putting it on silent when he gets home.  T he re’s a grunt and  a slurred call.

“Cache-Casey? Get out here! I tol’, I _told_ you about cleanin’ up  ‘at damn kitchen! Where are ya?” Casey couldn’t have moved if he wanted to. His old man’s swaying is aiming closet-ward and there’s no way he’ll miss Casey on the second guess.

Sometimes he fantasizes about doing some of his sweet vigilante moves when his dad got like this. Not like he’d do on the Purple Dragons or anything, not to hurt. Just enough to keep him down for the night and even make him forget how mad he was when he woke up in the morning. But of course he can’t do that, not in a million years. That’s his dad. His _dad._ _Angel’s_ dad. He can’t start smacking his own parent down, he only has the one left!

What the hell is he supposed to  _ do? _

“Eh...” comes the grunt, “’m tired. Teach’em tomorrow.” 

And then the door shuts.

Casey start s breathing again, sniff s hard, scrub s  at his eyes...He really got himself all worked up there for a moment.  B ut he’s got a reprieve  for the night! A real experienced trouble-maker can stretch a lucky break like that out for  like  a  _ week! _

He d oes n’t get up from his seat on the floor. The phone has three texts.

One from Angel:

_ u ok? _

...And two from Raph:

_ trouble? _

_ whats going on? _

Casey answer s the one from Raph first.

_ nothing. purple dragons. _

And then the one from Angel.

_ yeah. gonna go to raph’s in the morning. _

Casey stands, shaking himself off, rubbing his knee to get feeling in it. Whisky breath hangs in the air. He opens the door gingerly and peers out. Dad’s door is shut tight. The light’s off.

Raph has sent him more messages.

_ whatever were all going to bed _

_ dont let hun beat you too bad i dont want to spend all day icing your booboos _

_maybe just stay home one night for once_

He grabs his hockey stick, limps to the window, slips onto the fire escape and into the night. He’s not going to be able to sleep anyway, and he might as well make his injuries worth Raph’s while with a matching set of knees.


End file.
